Unlucky Punch
by PrincessFi
Summary: Dinozzo reveals something about his past to Gibbs.
1. Chapter 1

Tony's hand connected with her face with a sickening crunch.

He hadn't known she was there. Using her oft-cited "ninja skills", Ziva had come up behind Tony as they fooled around in the gym, and when he sensed a looming attack he spun around, and the back of his hand complete with knuckles and with the full weight of his body behind it, smacked her in the mouth.

Time slowed as Tony stopped, and Ziva doubled over, her hand to her mouth, blood running down her chin.

From across the gym, Gibbs saw Tony's face. He wore a look of absolute horror.

"Ziva, oh my god, Ziva, I am so sorry, I ... I.." Tony stepped over to her, and raised his hands as if to touch her, and then dropped them again. He was hyperventilating, his eyes wide.

Gibbs moved quickly across the gym, and Ziva began to straighten up as he reached her.

"Ziva, are you okay?" he asked, grasping her shoulders to hold her up. Slowly she stood fully upright, and wiped her hand across her mouth, blood from her lips smearing the back of her hand. Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth to staunch the bleeding, she nodded perfunctorily at Gibbs.

"M'okay," she muttered through a closed mouth, still blinking and shaking her head slightly as if to clear it from the impact.

Gibbs turned his attention to his senior field agent, who stood in front of Ziva, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his shoulders hunched, brow furrowed. But it was the anguish in his eyes that struck to Gibbs' heart. "I'm sorry," he muttered pathetically. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Zi."

Ziva looked at him, and then glanced at Gibbs, one eyebrow slightly raised. Tony saw the look, stiffened and fell silent. Dropping his eyes, he turned and walked from the gym.

Gibbs heard him throwing up as soon as he entered the men's room. The noise from the closest stall was gut wrenching. Gibbs leaned against the vanity and said nothing, waiting as the noise subsided, and he heard the sound of the flush. Another minute passed before the lock turned and the door opened.

When Dinozzo first stepped out, he was wiping his hands over his face. Then he straightened up, and pulled at his t-shirt as if to smooth it. Running a hand in a last pass over his face, he tipped his head back and turned it from side to side, stretching his neck. He dropped his shoulders and blew a breath out from between his lips.

It was only when he turned his head that he saw Gibbs standing there, and he visibly started. But he instantly regained his composure. "Hey, Boss," he said calmly, and moved to a basin to wash his hands.

Gibbs shook his head. He was good at this, Dinozzo. It was why he was so good undercover. Not only could he summon up a mask in a second, but it was a damned convincing, almost impenetrable, one.

"Want to tell me what that was about, Dinozzo?" Gibbs asked quietly.

Dinozzo took long moments washing his hands. He scooped a handful of water into his mouth, swished it around and spat it into the basin.

Finally he stood up and spoke. "It was an accident, Boss. Ziva came up behind me. I didn't see her."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Gibbs did not raise his voice.

Now Tony pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, and began drying his hands. Slowly, and with great care, he focused on his fingers, wiping the towel over each one, and then around each wrist.

"It was an accident Boss," he repeated, not meeting Gibbs' eyes. "That's all."

Gibbs stepped closer, deliberately entering Tony's personal space. "That's not what I am talking about Tony," he repeated quietly.

Tony dropped his eyes, and leaned back against the vanity. Gibbs adopted the same pose next to him. He could see Tony's hands shaking slightly as he wadded up the towel and rolled it between them.

"Tony," Gibbs' voice was low, coaxing, almost gentle. "Tony, I'm talking about the way you reacted. What's wrong, son?"

The last word hit him hard, as Gibbs had known it would. He saw Dinozzo close his eyes and drop his head. Gibbs put one hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

Tony gave a slight shake of his head, but he did not pull away. He kept his head bowed, but Gibbs could see his furrowed brow and the tension in his jaw.

"C'mon Tony," Gibbs urged gently. "Talk to me."

Tony lifted his head and tipped it back. Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling and gave a heavy sigh. Then he turned his face to Gibbs, and gave him one of those wide, beaming, disconcertingly joyous Dinozzo smiles.

"Any chance of you just dropping this?" he asked, his tone light, almost flirtatious.

Gibbs saw straight through it. Tony's standard defence strategy – a devastating smile and a facetious remark - was not going to work on him. It never had.

"No," Gibbs said softly.

Tony's smile faded, and he looked away. Neither spoke. Tony stopped rolling the ball of paper between his hands, and threw it across the bathroom, unerringly dropping it into the waste receptacle. Then he gripped the hard surface of the vanity behind him as if his life depended on it.

"Want me to help you?" Gibbs prompted quietly. "I expect that whatever you're about to tell me will start with the words "when I was a kid"."

"When I was a kid," Tony repeated glibly, but then he stopped. "When I was a kid...." his voice faded, and he looked down again. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when he spoke again there was no trace of humour in his voice. "When I was a kid, my... aah, my father..." His voice grew harsh, and his knuckles were white, but he pressed on. "When I was a kid, my father used to ... he used to hit my mother." The words came out in a strangely stilted rush, each word separated from the one before, but choked out as quickly as possible.

Gibbs rested his hand on the back of Tony's neck.

"When I hit Ziva, it made the same sound, and then she was standing there, with blood on her face ..." He closed his eyes, and raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Gibbs was silent for a moment, and gently stroked Tony's hair.

"Only your mother?" he asked quietly.

Tony shook his head. "No," he confirmed, almost inaudibly. "Me too, sometimes. More often after my mother died."

Gibbs nodded.

"Boss, I never meant to hit Ziva. I would never hit a woman," Tony said desperately. "I'm not like that. I've never physically hurt any of the women I've gone out with, never. I wouldn't.... I ..."

"I know, I know Tony," he soothed. "It was an accident." He felt Tony nod, and he squeezed his neck. He knew what Tony needed to hear. "You're not like you're father Tony. You're nothing like him. I know that. You need to know it as well."

At Gibbs' words, the tension left Tony's body, and he slumped, leaning slightly to the side. Gibbs welcomed the weight against him, and slid his hand across to Tony's other shoulder, so the young man stood in his loose embrace. For long moments, they simply stood there, resting against each other, one drawing strength, the other happy to provide it. Gibbs felt again the flickering anger at the pain inflicted on Tony as a child, and at the man responsible. It was easy to forget the scars, because Tony hid them so well, but every now and then something would rip them open and Gibbs would see again the depth of the damage that had been done to him. This time, all it had taken was an accident, a sound and a sight, for a long denied childhood memory to tear the heart out of his senior agent.

"Tony, have you ever had to arrest or detain a woman?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "But I've never had to hit one. I don't know if I could."

"You should tell Ziva," Gibbs directed gently. "She needs to know that."

Tony shifted slightly, and Gibbs saw his forehead crease again. "Do you think Ziva... I mean, do I have to tell her the whole..."

"Tell her as much as you want, Tony. But don't underestimate her. She'll understand."

Again Tony nodded. Finally he drew a long breath and stood up, removing himself from Gibbs' embrace.

"Sorry Boss," he said shortly.

Normally Gibbs would have reminded him of the rule against apologising, but not this time. "It's okay Tony." Without analysing it further, he noted that his arm felt strangely empty without the hard warmth of Dinozzo's body beneath it.

Gibbs could see his senior agent regaining his composure, his eyes clearing, and his face adopting into its habitual lines. When Tony pulled back his shoulders and looked him square in the eye, Gibbs spoke.

"Get back to work, Dinozzo," he ordered gruffly.

Tony smiled. "On it, Boss."

FF_1569342


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2 – Telling Ziva**

Tony waited until he saw Ziva rise from her desk and grab her bag before standing to follow her.

When he and Gibbs had emerged from the bathroom, Ziva had already left the gym and Tony had not seen her again until he returned to his desk. When he'd walked in, she'd looked up and given him a small smile. He had winced at the sight of the swelling around her mouth, and had taken his seat without speaking to her.

He had been uncharacteristically subdued all morning, and she was not surprised to see him follow her into the lift when she went to lunch.

"Hey Zi, wait up," he called, sliding through the lift doors behind her. "Wanna grab a sandwich?" he asked. "My buy, least I can do."

"Sure Tony," she responded, just as lightly.

As usual, Tony inhaled his sandwich in record time, and then sat tapping his hands on the table top as Ziva ate. They made small talk and then finally fell silent. Ziva concentrated on her food, trying to give Tony the space he needed. A sharp piece of carrot initiated the conversation.

"Ouch!" Ziva winced as it poked into the gash in her lip.

She dropped her sandwich onto the plate, and grabbed a paper napkin to catch the bead of blood that appeared in the corner of her mouth. Tony stared fixedly at the stain that spread through the napkin's thin fibres, then frowned and dropped his eyes.

"Tony," Ziva began.

"Ziva," he said simultaneously.

She stopped and looked at him, and sat back in her seat.

"Ziva," Tony began quietly, "I really am sorry about that." He gestured with one hand towards her face.

"I know Tony. You don't have to apologise again."

He sighed heavily. "There is something else."

Ziva stayed leaning back, her face neutral. She carefully folded her hands in her lap.

"I um..." Tony blew out a slow breath. "Zi, the fact is I'm not much use when it comes to hitting women."

You did a pretty good job of it this morning, she thought automatically, but she bit back the comment, sensing that Tony was not looking to make light of the event. So she said nothing, but just looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised.

"If we're ever in a situation where, you know, I have to hit one, well, you're my partner so you need to know..."

"Tony," she said calmly, "Do I understand you say that if there is a woman to be hit, I will need to be the one to hit her?"

He sighed, and nodded. "Yeah," he said softly.

"No problem."

He finally met her eyes, and she saw that, despite her acceptance of his words, he had more to say.

"I've never had to hit a woman before, and today, when I hit you, it kinda freaked me out. I don't think I could do it again."

She leaned forward and folded her hands on the table. "Its fine, Tony. I do not have any problems hitting women – I have done it before, and will do it again if necessary." She paused, and decided to push, just a little. "You were very strange this morning." The question was unspoken.

"Not the first time I've heard that line," Tony's eyes flicked away, and his mouth crooked up at the corner.

She smiled a little, but it was a gentle, small smile. "Are you going to tell me why?"

He blew a breath out between his lips, and began drumming his fingers on the table. She reached over and put her hands over his. "You do not have to tell me if you do not want to," she reassured him. She wanted him to know that she understood that this conversation was not easy or simple for him.

"No," he responded, meeting her eyes, his face serious now. "No, I should tell you. I, aah..."

He turned his hands over, so that her hands rested in his palms. He gently rubbed his thumbs across her knuckles. Looking down, he did not see her eyes soften or her lips part, and she was too good an agent to let him hear her breathing change.

"When I told Gibbs," he began quietly, "he suggested I start with "when I was a kid"." He looked up at her face, and gently squeezed her hands. "When I was a kid..." . He stopped. He had thought that the second time would be easier, but he was wrong. Telling Ziva, this ferocious, kill-you-with-a-paperclip, "ninja-chick", so strong, so indomitable, felt like admitting a personal weakness. This would never have happened to Ziva, he thought bitterly, she would never have let it. She wouldn't have crouched there in the corner crying, covering her ears against the sounds, turning her eyes from the sight of blood. She would have acted. She would have done something. He closed his eyes and looked away.

She saw the change on his face, saw him shut down and turn away from her, and felt her throat catch. "Tony," she asked quietly. "Please, I ..."

Tony knew that he had fallen back into a pattern of thinking that he hoped he had left behind – blaming himself, ignoring the fact that he had been a child, trying to make sense of what had happened through a prism of guilt and shame. He knew he was doing it, because he had struggled for years to stop those feelings controlling his actions.

He looked back at her and saw no reproach or accusations in her eyes. He heard Gibbs' words in his head - don't underestimate her. Was that what he was doing? He had never underestimated her skills as an agent. But was he underestimating her as a person? Didn't he know her well enough to know her capacity for compassion and kindness?

"When I was a kid my father used to hit my mother. I saw it. When I hit you, it made me remember."

She was silent. Completely still, she sat with her hands resting in his. She felt that she should speak, but she had no idea what to say. Instead, she squeezed his hands gently.

"I'm glad you told me," she said finally. "I understand."

The words were so simple, so right. He met her eyes, and gave her a quiet smile, a real one, a rare one. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to look away.

After a few moments, she spoke again.

"This morning," she said, her tone light as she withdrew her hands from his, "you just got lucky. I could still take you out with a paperclip. Or without one." She picked up her sandwich and took a large bite.

He snorted. "I dunno Zi-va," he retorted, dragging her name out. "I've been working out." The cocky grin was back.

"Bench pressing pizza from the box into your mouth is not working out." She looked at him over the sandwich and raised her eyebrows.

"Climbing wall challenge, then," he shot back. "Tomorrow morning, before work."

"Your butt is mine."

"My ass, Zi," he correct. "My ass is yours."

"So you admit it?"

He threw a napkin at her.

The next morning, she let him win.

FF_1569342


End file.
